3. Chapter 3 #2
“You two behave yourselves in here. Mommy has a meeting to attend.”
Octavia left the conservatory and climbed the grand staircase to the second floor then glided down the hall to her bedchamber.
Once there, she tugged upward on the gold chain around her neck—a chain she never removed.
Not because of something so maudlin as sentiment.
Heaven knew, she felt no lingering attachment to Clive.
Her parents, either, for that matter. After all, they were the ones who bartered her to a man more than twice her age in exchange for access to his steamboat line.
No, she wore no locket or jewel at the end of this chain.
She wore something of far greater worth. A key.
As the chain pulled free of the modest neckline of her bodice, she clasped the small brass key, enjoying the rush of power that swept through her at its touch.
She crossed to the rolltop desk in the corner of the room, bent over its cover, and fit the key into the lock.
A quiet click met her ears, bringing a smile of satisfaction to her face.
Straightening, she opened the desk and retrieved her most prized possession.
A journal. Ordinary on the surface. Plain, brown leather.
Unadorned. Innocuous. Yet inside, it brimmed with secrets.
Secrets people paid her very well to keep.
Whispers of scandal. Corruption. Even criminal activity. The currency of her enterprise.
And the reason Mr. Horace Erickson was coming to tea.
“Let’s get down to business, shall we, Mrs. Underhill?” Mr. Erickson moved his crumb-filled plate to the side, braced his elbows on his chair arms, then laced his fingers in front of him. His eyes gleamed in a predatory fashion that would have intimidated a less-experienced woman.
Octavia, however, had cultivated an immunity to such posturing.
“Gladly.” She offered him a pleasant smile as she met his gaze with confidence.
A flash of annoyance lit his eyes, and it was all Octavia could do not to preen.
“I assume you wish to discuss the terms of the matchmaking agreement your wife and I arranged yesterday.”
“I do.” He leaned forward, his gaze narrowing. “I wish to nullify the agreement and cancel your services.”
Octavia clicked her tongue as she gave her head a gentle shake.
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible. Your wife signed the contract.
It cannot be undone. Not without significant penalty.
” She widened her gaze and blinked in a parody of guilelessness.
“Did she not show you the document? I would expect an experienced businessman like yourself to understand the nature of contracts. They are rather binding, you see.”
“Do not condescend to me, madam. I am quite aware of the nature of contracts.” His posture stiffened to such an extreme that even the hair in his sideburns seemed to stand at attention. “I’m also aware of the nature of blackmail. No court will uphold a contract such as yours. Extortion is illegal.”
Octavia patted the table between them in a conciliatory fashion.
“We both know you’ll not be taking me to court, Mr. Erickson.
Not if you want your secret to stay between us.
Sure, you might ruin me by taking such action, but you’ll ruin yourself in the process.
Do you really think you’ll be able to keep your seat at the Cotton Exchange when word gets out that you’ve been manipulating the market to line your own pockets?
I’m not the only criminal sitting at this table, am I? ”
The flat of his hand came down with enough force to rattle the silver tea service. “You go too far.”
“My reputation as a matchmaker is impeccable, Mr. Erickson. I’ve access to girls from some of the wealthiest families in the south.
Even as far north as Chicago. I can match your son to a young woman with a pedigree that will elevate the Erickson name to equal standing with George Sealy or W.L. Moody.”
There it was. The glint of ambition. The aspiration for greatness.
Octavia smoothed a wrinkle from the tablecloth.
“I’m a broker, not so different from you.
Instead of connecting cotton suppliers with European textile mills, I connect young men of good standing with daughters of the socially elite.
And like you, I take a commission. Each client is given the opportunity to pay my full fee upfront, though most choose to pay in installments.
Understandable since there is no guarantee that a marriage will take place.
As much as I would like to, I cannot force two young people to marry.
That is the parents’ responsibility. What I can do is provide opportunities for them to spend time together and form an attachment.
All of which requires considerable effort on my part.
Hence my need for insurance. What’s to stop a mother from reneging on our bargain and refusing to pay the remainder of my fee once the introductions have been made?
That is why the secrets are necessary. They guarantee that all payments will be made in a timely fashion.
And once the full amount is satisfied, I never ask for more.
I’m a reputable businesswoman. Do you really think that people would continue to recommend my services to their friends if that was not the case? ”
“What about the Gladstones? They left the island in disgrace after an article appeared in the paper detailing Robert’s involvement with a smuggling operation. You ruined him.”
Octavia shrugged. “He ruined himself. He was the smuggler, not I. He also chose not to adhere to our agreement. I gave him several opportunities to pay what he owed. He opted to ignore my reminders. Decided to gamble and call my bluff.” She locked eyes with Mr. Erickson. “I don’t bluff.”
She expected him to squirm at least a little, but he surprised her by hardening his expression. “Neither do I.”
What did he mean by that?
“I don’t know where you ferreted out your information about my business dealings, but I assure you, it is a pack of lies based on nothing more than rumor and slanderous speculation from those who wish to unseat me.
My wife has no intimate knowledge of my work at the Exchange and, frankly, wouldn’t understand it even if she did. ”
Octavia stroked a flawlessly manicured fingernail around the edge of her saucer.
“I find that men often underestimate the intelligence of the women around them. Perhaps you should give your wife more credit. She might not be privy to the business conducted within the walls of the Exchange, but she hosts your business dinners, cultivates relationships with the wives of your partners, and notices when you come home with new, diamond cufflinks.” She aimed a pointed glare at her guest’s wrist where something rather glittery peeked out from beneath his coat sleeve.
“She obviously thought you capable of such practices or she never would have signed the contract.”
Mr. Erickson’s mouth tightened. “She would have signed anything to find our son a bride. She’s obsessed with the idea.” He shook his head. “Thankfully, she’s also loyal and told me everything. Including that you had her write this so-called secret into a journal and sign her name to it.”
“That is correct. Having the secret in the owner’s handwriting allows for confirmation. I wouldn’t want anyone to accuse me of slander.”
One of his eyebrows twitched. From nerves? Guilt? Or the impulse to reach across the table and strangle her where she sat? Hard to tell. But one thing was for certain, she was under his skin. Exactly where she wanted to be.
“My wife also informed me that once the final payment is made, you will tear the page from the journal and burn it.”
Octavia dipped her chin. “Yes. Once the contract is fulfilled, the evidence is destroyed. The owner is invited to bear witness to the burning.”
Mr. Erickson rose to his feet and stalked toward her.
Octavia’s throat tightened as if his fingers had already closed around her throat.
She forced herself to remain seated, however, her features smooth and unconcerned.
The chances of him actually accosting her were quite small.
Not in her home with servants to bear witness.
“I want you to burn it,” he demanded as he stormed over to her chair. “Now.”
Did he think she would give in to his wishes simply because he loomed over her? Octavia shot him a scathing glare as she slowly gained her feet. “I already explained that wouldn’t be possible. The only way to dispose of that page is for you to pay the full amount up front.”
“I’m prepared to do that. Five hundred dollars, isn’t it?” He pulled an envelope from inside his coat pocket. It bulged in a quite delicious fashion.
“Five hundred fifty,” she corrected.
“Right.” He looked far too cocky for her peace of mind.
She tipped her head and studied him, suddenly wary. “I’ll need to count it.” She extended her palm.
He moved the envelope toward her then jerked it back. “Not until I see the journal.”
“You don’t trust me?” She batted her lashes.
He raised a brow. “Not even a little.”
She sashayed around him toward the bookshelf that lined the wall behind where he’d been sitting, a location always within her field of view.
Feeling his gaze burning a hole in her back, she crouched down to reach the shelf second from the bottom.
She slid the journal from between two outdated copies of The Farmer’s Almanac and returned to the table.
“Show me the page,” he demanded, waving the envelope between them.
Standing well out of his reach, she opened the journal to his wife’s page then turned it outward for him to see. She pressed the back of the journal against her breast, keeping it close as she tightened her hold.
She gestured with her chin toward the table. “Count the money where I can see it. When you’re done, I’ll remove the page, and we can trade.”
He opened the envelope, held up a fifty-dollar bank note for her inspection, then counted out ten more upon the table.
Her heart raced faster with each one.
“Now, the page.”
Octavia raised her voice. “Rogers. Come in here, please.”
Her butler entered the room a moment later, a burly former sea captain who wasn’t adverse to using his fists when called upon to protect his mistress.
“Yes, madam?”
“Keep an eye on our guest while I prepare his documentation, would you?”
He gave a nod then planted himself between her and Mr. Erickson.
She crossed to the small desk in the corner and removed a penknife from the drawer. She laid the journal on the desktop, extended Mrs. Erickson’s page upward, then carefully cut it free of the binding. After tucking the penknife back into the desk drawer, she held out the removed page.
“Rogers, you may make the exchange.” She still didn’t want to get too close to Mr. Erickson. Not while her instincts continued to fire warning signals.
Her butler approached and collected the page. Then, before she realized what had happened, he snatched the journal from the desk with his other hand.
“What are you doing?” She jumped from her chair and grabbed for the journal, but he tossed it to Mr. Erickson with a flick of his wrist before she could reach it.
“No!” She chased the flying volume. That journal was her life! But she made it only two steps before her butler captured her arm and wrenched it behind her back. “Ow! You oaf. Let go of me!”
She kicked at his shins, but he ignored her paltry efforts to inflict pain and inflicted more of his own when he clasped her second arm and forced it behind her back to join the first. Holding both of her wrists with one meaty hand, he pulled something from his pocket.
A cord. One he used to bind her wrists before forcing her into a chair.
“Vanessa! Help!”
“She and Cook are a bit tied up at the moment.” Rogers stood above her, arms crossed.
Octavia kicked his shins again on principle. “You mutinous pirate. How could betray me like this?”
Horace Erickson strutted forward. “For money, of course. Isn’t that what drives us all?” He took two of the fifty-dollar bills and handed them to Rogers along with something that looked to be a train ticket.
Next, he retrieved the page containing proof of his misdeeds that had fallen to the carpet while her butler had been busy manhandling her. He folded it into a tidy square, slipped it into his pocket, then returned to gloat with a smugness that turned her stomach.
“I’m renegotiating our deal, Mrs. Underhill.
You will still find a suitable match for my son, only instead of the price you arranged with my wife, your payment will be the return of your journal.
” He opened the leather book and flipped through her carefully organized pages.
“Oh, and just to make sure you are properly motivated, I will grant you four weeks to find a promising match. Every week that passes after the deadline, I will contact one person from your extortion list and inform them that their debt has been canceled. I imagine they’ll consider me quite the hero. ”
The man turned from her and whistled as he exited her house.
Whistled! Horrid man. A scream of frustration welled within her, but Octavia refused to give it voice.
She’d not succumb to such weakness. Victims surrendered to hopelessness, and she refused to be anyone's victim.
She controlled her destiny. No one else.
Besides, Erickson had made a grave error. He'd given her four weeks to plot. He might as well have handed his demise to her on a silver platter.